The Boy with the Guitar
by readingmama
Summary: ***THIRD PLACE WINNER IN the 'A Picture is Worth a 1000 Words' contest*** Thank you to everyone who voted. Edward is lost and traveling, lamenting on love lost.


**A Picture is Worth a 1000 Words Contest**

**Title: The boy with the Guitar**

**Your pen name: Readingmama**

**Inspirational photo number: 5**

**To view the photos for this contest visit: http://i618(DOT)photobucket(DOT)com/albums/tt268/Rosalynn7885/contestcollage(DOT)png**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Edward is trying to forget the love he lost.**

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this contest visit: **

**http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/a_picture_is_worth_a_1000_words_contest/76199/**

**A/N- Thanks to my wonderful beta AcrosstheSkyinStars**

I sat on the front stoop of the hostel, my clenched fist against my face and my guitar in front of me. I didn't have much, just my guitar and a bag full of old clothes. I didn't even have any fucking socks. Inside the doors behind me was yet another mistake; another girl, another fight, another way to try and forget her.

The girl I lost.

The girl I loved.

The girl who died on me and left me to fend for myself in a world I no longer belonged in.

I had been travelling through Europe for several months and I had fallen into a pattern that resulted in me feeling emptier and lonelier. At first, I tried to find a girl that looked like her, the one I lost, but that only hurt more. So I changed my tactics, finding girls that were the complete opposite of my world.

I would take the girl back to my room, hang the sock on the door, and try desperately to forget her for just one hour. Just one minute. Just one second. As my body would move against hers, whoever she would be, it only sourced to remind me that it wasn't my love next to me. They were too hard or too vocal and they never smelled right. The anger when it didn't work would fuel me to be unkind. I never hit them but my words were crass and I did dismiss them rather quickly. The girls didn't take kindly to this behavior and would sometimes round up some guys to teach me some manners. More than once I had two or three guys show up at my door with a message from an upset girl. Now, I might not look like much, with my gangly build, but I could pack a punch. Really, I meant these girls no harm, they were trying to help me, but I was used up and had nothing left of compassion for either them or me.

This was it though. I was done. If she could leave this world, so could I. I stood up and grabbed my guitar case. Leaving my satchel full of clothes behind, I walked aimlessly into the street. The air was brisk for that time of year and the buttons I had left open on my shirt were causing my chest to break out in gooseflesh.

"Fuck it," I mumbled to myself, allowing the cold air to wake up my body.

The large hunting knife I kept in alongside my guitar was calling to me. I wanted to do one more thing before I ended it though. I needed to do it one more time. I soon found myself sitting on a street corner. I opened up the case in front of me and removed the knife, placing it behind me. I then pulled out the guitar and strummed once. I took a minute to fiddle with the strings, I never played my guitar without tuning it, and I wasn't going to start now.

Once I was happy with how it sounded, I strummed the first chord. A tear rolled down my cheek and I stopped to brush it off roughly with my hand. I hadn't played her song since she had passed. I remembered writing it for her. I was so excited for her to hear it but I kept it in progress for months before I deemed it perfect. It had to be for her, for she, too, was perfect.

The smile that lit up her face when I played it for her for the first time was nothing less than radiant. I couldn't help beaming as well as her happiness was mine. I had asked her to marry me that night, with my song, and she had agreed.

As I played it, the memories rushed back to me and the pain hit me tenfold. I didn't sing the words as I knew there would be no way for my voice to do so. Then a strange thing happened as I was playing. I started to feel more and more sedate. It was as if I had resolved to my fate and I was at peace.

It was only when I stopped playing and looked up that I realized that the peace had nothing to do with my decision to kill myself and everything to do with the angel standing before me. Maybe I was already dead and she had come to collect me.

I asked her, "Did Tanya send you?"

She furrowed her brow and looked at me quizzically. "No, I don't know any Tanya."

I was confused for a moment. This creature before me was surely an angel, so did that mean that Tanya was not in heaven? I refused to believe that.

"You play beautifully," she continued, her voice was like silk on the wind, almost so soft you could miss it. When I didn't respond she kept talking. "Did you write that? The song?"

"Yes."

"Was it for a girl?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Lucky girl," the angel mumbled under her breath.

"Surely there must be plenty songs written about you," I replied.

She snorted, and it was the first moment that I realized that she may have actually been real. "Yeah, beautiful boys write me songs every day." After her comment, she blushed, causing me to look away. Surely such beauty would smite me for looking.

"What's your name?" I boldly asked.

"Bella," she replied.

With that simple word, away went the plan for redemption; away went my anger and vengeance. Even if she didn't know it, Tanya did send her. My girl sent me someone who could help and teach me to live life again. Tanya would have wanted me to and now I wanted to too.

"Would you like to get something to eat with me?" I asked.

Her gentle smile lit up her face and she became even more effervescent than before.

"I would love to Edward."

**E/N- Thank you for reading. Please review but if you don't, please vote!**


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